Drowning in the River of Denial
by Ginny3
Summary: Josh and Donna, Post Ep for NSF Thurmont


Drowning in the River of Denial-Post Ep for NSF Thurmont  
  
By Ginny 

It's said that 'Denial ain't just a river in Egypt'. As I sit here watching Donna sleep I can certainly agree with that sentiment. While I am literally sitting in a pretty uncomfortable chair, in the ICU of a military hospital in Germany, I am figuratively drowning in the River of Denial, gasping for air and scared to death.  
  
I've found myself in this particular river many, many times over the last 5 years or so. As time has gone by I've watched the water rise higher and higher.  
  
My first encounter with this particular body of water came after a long day at the campaign office in Manchester New Hampshire. Donna had just hired herself to be my assistant. She declared herself to be valuable and ten minutes later I was quite smitten as she answered my phone and organized my calendar. She worked with the slight hesitation of one who isn't quite sure they're where they belong. But with her hair pulled back in a ponytail, a pencil stuck behind her ear and my ID badge around her neck she looked like the model of efficiency. And I was hooked. Later that night in my sparsely furnished apartment I nurse a glass of scotch and water, kicked off my shoes and stuck my toes into the proverbial river. The waters were warm and inviting. There was no turning back.  
  
The waters started to rise around Christmas, 1999. We'd been in the White House for almost a year and things were great. Donna and I bantered about skis and had some serious late night discussion about the situation with Leo. I toyed with the idea of getting her skis but the trip to Rare Books with the President changed my mind. The Art and Artistry of Alpine Skiing was and still is, I assume, a beautiful book. And my inscription was pretty beautiful too, if I do say do myself. I literally had to force myself to leave Donna's warm embrace that day. As I turned back and watched her reread the inscription the waters rose up and suddenly my socks were wet.  
  
More time passed us by and the water didn't get deeper for a while. Then May came and our lives were turned upside down. One minute I was celebrating the fact that Toby's brother made it safely back into the earth's atmosphere, the President had a kick ass Town Hall Meeting and it looked like I was going to get home at a decent hour, maybe even go to bed before midnight. The next thing I knew I was thrown backwards by the force of something unidentifiable to me at the time. And that was the last thing I remembered until I woke up in the Recovery Room with Jed Bartlet standing watch over me like a father standing over his son. Many have told me I was talking when I was rushed into the hospital but I don't remember any of it, none at all. I have to admit the first few days after the shooting are still fuzzy to this day, like I was underwater. Four days after the shooting they got me out of bed and up on my feet. Donna was by my side, as she had been for the previous four days. As I stood still for a few minutes and got my bearings I looked over at Donna who was standing off to the side of the PT room. She had an encouraging smile on her face and tears in her eyes. As I took my first tentative steps I felt the water rise until it was up to my knees.  
  
I've always had a love/hate relationship with music. No doubt stemming from Joannie's death. Sometimes it calms me and other times it sends me into a place I really don't want to be. And I never really understood that until Stanley Keyworth showed up at the White House. I wasn't just remembering Rosslyn, I was remembering the fire, the sound of the firetrucks as they came down our street that warm summer evening when my world was shattered. Stanley got me to understand what was going on in my head, Donna taught me to live with it. She took me home that night and tucked me into bed. It wasn't until I was nearly asleep that I realized she had stayed in DC, cancelling her trip home to Wisconsin. I remember suddenly sitting up and asking her why she had stayed in town. "There's no place I'd rather be," was what she said as she kissed my forehead and settled me back down against the pillows. She stayed in my bed that night, holding me close, keeping my fears at bay. I dreamed that night that we were in Hawaii. I was in the ocean, waist deep in the warm, blue water.  
  
Remembering occasions has never been a strong suit of mine. I am certainly not 'a man of occasion' no matter what I said to Donna that warm Spring evening. I knew it wasn't our "true" anniversary but I'd kind of forgotten to mark the occasion in February so I tried to make up for it in April. And I think I did a pretty good job. I got a ton of compliments on those flowers, but none as special as Donna's. Her compliment was almost off-handed, an after thought to her 'I wouldn't stop for red lights' comment which left me uncharacteristically speechless. There was a moment, or two or three, when we were in my office that night that I thought maybe, just maybe something was going to happen between us. She felt it too, I'm sure, but neither of us had the guts to make the first move. So as she walked away and headed back into the Roosevelt Room I remember absently rubbing my scar as the water level rose to my chest.  
  
Then along came Amy. Let's just say I'm surprised I didn't completely drown the first time I let her into my life. We won't even discuss the second time. I would have to use the insanity plea to do so. Anyway, Donna stood by and watched as I threw myself into a relationship that had no chance of ever turning into something other than decent sex and a date for formal occasions. I watched with fear as one of my best friends became the target of a madman and then lost someone who she just realized she had feelings for. That hit home like a ton of bricks. I remember sitting with CJ that night after Air Force One had returned to DC. We were in her office and I found myself speechless, unable to think of anything helpful to say. CJ just accepted my being there as a sign that I cared. As she finally pulled herself together enough to go brief she kissed my cheek and whispered, "Like is short Joshua, you of all people should know that." She went to brief and I walked outside for some fresh air. I found Donna out in the Rose Garden doing what I was having trouble letting myself to do, cry. She held out her hand to me and together we wept for the randomness of life, for lost opportunites and for a thousand other things we just couldn't put into words. The tears flowed and the waters of denial rose to my neck.  
  
I've always liked the winter. When I was little the first big snowfall of the year was met with unbridled enthusiasm by the kids on my block. We'd build snowmen, snowforts and sled down the hill behind the high school. We threw snowballs, competing to see who had the best aim and the farthest distance. My distance was always pretty good but my aim usually left a little to be desired. So that beautiful, crystal clear night when we stood throwing snowballs at Donna's window I was transformed from a fairly socially adept 40 something guy to a stuttering pre-teen with bad aim as Donna came outside. I'm still not sure how I managed to choke out the phrase, "you look amazing". But I did and she smiled a smile that will stay with me forever. Despite the bitter chill in the air the warm waters of the river rose until I could taste the murky water on my lips.  
  
As I've said before, I don't particularly enjoy my birthday all that much. From the incident with the clown to Joannie dying a mere 2 weeks before I turned 8, it remains a day I'd rather not mark as a big occasion. But obviously birthdays are important in the Moss household. I can see all of them gathered around a homemade birthday cake with streamers hanging from the ceiling and everyone singing an off-key version of Happy Birthday while the blond birthday girl giggles until her cue to take a deep breath and make a wish. My birthday last year was no exception to the rule of birthdays I would rather forget. From a fish wrapped in newspaper to my own stupidity which cost my own party a member, it was not a day I wish to remember for the rest of my life. But through that day, and the rough weeks that followed Donna was by my side, as always. She healed me, physically and emotionally, as only she could. She brought me soup and told me jokes to make me laugh. When I felt better and things got back to some semblance of normal at work, whatever "normal" is, the waters rose again, this time high enough to interfere with my vision.  
  
The water finally went over my head a few hours ago. It happened in the hallway just after Colin told me his story about Belfast, Dublin and the girl with the unrequited love. A story which, by the way, didn't seem to shock me as much as it probably should have. For the first 24 hours or so I was wary of Colin for obvious reasons. Truth is, he the kind of guy who I would actually be friends with, if circumstances were different. But he's clear on where he stands and in a round about way was actually trying to get me to admit where I stand. When the doctor came to announce there had been complications and that Donna might have neurological damage, I knew exactly where I stood.  
  
Completely underwater in the River of Denial.  
  
And so here I am, holding my breath, waiting for someone to throw me a life line.  
  
"Josh...Josh," Donna whispers hoarsely against the fog of morphine.  
  
"I'm here," I assure her as I take her hand like the lifeline that it is. "I'm still here," I whisper as I fight my way up to the surface...for her...for us...for our future. It's time to climb out of the River of Denial and dry off.

THE END


End file.
